by Gordon Bates
CHAPTER VI
POOR SCHNITZ
Grim and terrible fighting now marked what turned out to be one of thedecisive engagements of the war between the Americans and the Germans.At this sector of the front, and just about where the 509th Infantrywas included in the army that was expected to smash the German line,there was what is called a "spear head." That is, the Germans had sothrust forward their forces as to occupy a small point of territorywith its apex toward the American front. It was in such ways as thisthat the salients were made, and these were always dangerous.
Sometimes the danger was to the force making the spear point, for theylaid themselves open to flank attacks. Again, the danger was to theside into which the point was thrust. For the point could be broadenedand so spread out as to divide the defending line.
Indeed, the object of making a salient, or spear head, was justthat--to divide and bend back the opposing force, to cut it in two, sothat there should be confusion in the ranks, with consequent defeat.
The Germans, as has been said, had created a small spear head at thispoint, and it was in an endeavor to enlarge this by a surprise attackthat the present fighting was undertaken.
And, naturally, the Americans had to rally to their own defense. Wellthey knew that, if the Huns once broadened the point, all sorts ofdisasters might follow. So it is no wonder that Jimmy and his chums,and every Sammie in the gallant American armies, fought to the death.And, likewise, with the hope of victory before them, it may well beassumed that the Germans also fought desperately.
Forward over the shell-pitted ground swept the Americans to meet theattack and beat it back if possible. Their own barrage, directed byaviators hovering above the contending armies, was working well. Itgave protection, but, in a way, was nullified by a counter barrage laiddown by the Boche gunners.
And not only was the shrapnel barrage sweeping over the one between thetwo contending forces, but there was a constant spray of machine-gunbullets, to say nothing of the fire from thousands of rifles.
Smashes, bangs, roars, and rattles, together with cheers ofencouragement, yells of defiance, and screams of sorely woundedmen mingled in one awful, hideous maelstrom of noise as the battlecontinued.
Jimmy Blaise led his small force onward, being directed, of course, bylieutenants, captains or majors in the advance. Two of Jimmy's squadwere killed instantly by shrapnel, one on either side of him, and theirblood spattered him. But he shut his teeth grimly and kept on. And yetin the midst of it all--even when he was fiercely yelling to his men tocome on and while he fired his rifle until it was hot to his touch--hecould not help thinking of his four Brothers.
Where were they? Had they been wounded--killed, perhaps? Or werethey still fighting and struggling onward as was he, over thedeath-impending ground, leaping from shell-hole to shell-hole, now intosome water-filled crater, now out again, ever going onward, onward,onward unless stopped by death or a disabling wound?
"Well, I can only hope for the best," mused Jimmy, as he paused amoment behind a hillock of dirt to get his breath. "This is fiercefighting! I only hope we smash through them!"
Then again he plunged into the horrible din and slaughter, rallyingsuch men as he saw needed to be led, not because they faltered, butbecause they were bewildered by the terrible din all about them.
Meanwhile Roger, Bob and Franz found themselves close together as theyadvanced. They were rushing onward against a nest of German machineguns, taking advantage of such shelter as they could find between thebursts of fire.
"We've got to get them out of the way!" panted Franz, as he wiped theblood from his face--blood from a cut in his head caused by a fragmentof a shrapnel shell which, had it gone a half inch closer, would haveended his fighting days.
"That's right!" agreed Bob. "They're holding up the advance at thispoint. Come on now. When they get through the next volley let's rush'em. They must stop a moment to put in a fresh belt of cartridges."
"Their machine guns fire faster than ours--at least they load faster,"observed Roger, as the three paused, even as Jimmy had done, in acrater to get a moment's respite. "That flexible belt of cartridgesgoes in the firing chamber quicker than our brass clips do, I'mthinking."
"But, even at that, our boys work our guns to better advantage,"declared Franz. "They've got the knack of jamming in the cartridgeclips, and though the Huns ought to fire faster, they don't, as a rule.Well, come on! Let's get the job over!" he said grimly, addressingthose around him, who were waiting for the word to go on and wipe upthe nest of Hun machine gunners.
With yells they started out of the hole, but at that instant a shelldescended directly on an old house where the Germans had made a stand,placing no less than ten machine guns in the structure, as was learnedlater. The shell came from the American lines, and was doubtless aimedaccording to directions signaled back by some Allied aviator. Itfell directly on the house, and being an H. E. shell--that is, highexplosive--the damage wrought was terrific.
In one great blast, directly in front of the boys, and so close as toscatter dirt and small stones all about them, the house that shelteredthe Boches was blown apart. And with it went the machine guns and thoseserving the weapons. That nest was wiped out, and with wild yells theKhaki Boys rushed forward to take advantage of the gap thus made in theGerman line.
"Well, that saved us a lot of work," cried Franz, as they swept pastthe place where the house had been. Now it was but a hole in the ground.
"Yes, and it saved a lot of lives," added Bob. "But the job isn'tfinished yet. We've got to go on!"
"You said it!" came grimly from Roger. "Say, look on either side ofus!" he added. "This is one of the biggest battles of the war."
And so it proved. As the boys, taking a little breathing spell justbeyond the machine-gun nest, looked to either side of them up and downthe conflicting lines, they saw how the tide of battle was going. Andat no point were the Americans giving way. Ever they were pressingonward. The German spear-head was broken off and flattened--beingrendered harmless. In fact, it was being turned so as to become averitable thorn in the side of the Boche enemy.
Iggy, the Polish lad, rejoicing that he was again in the battlefighting for the beloved land of his adoption, had, early in theconflict, lost contact with Bob, Franz, and Roger. But this hadhappened before during fights, and Iggy was so desperately in earnestin firing his rifle at the foe, in rushing forward at the word ofcommand, and in seeking such shelter as there was when told to, that hehad little time to think of his friends.
Bob, Roger, and Franz, after passing the demolished machine-gun nest,soon found themselves, together with others of their company, in asmall patch of woods.
"Rest here," directed a lieutenant. "There's a spring, and you can getsome water. There'll be plenty of hard fighting yet, so take it easywhen you can."
"Water! Oh, boy!" came the cries of delight from the thirst-parched andwearied lads. And never did liquid taste sweeter. It refreshed themmore than can easily be imagined.
Then came the order to go forward, and in a fierce bit of fighting thatfollowed, Franz Schnitzel found himself out of contact not only withBob and Roger, but also away from any others of his company.
"This won't do! Got to get back!" he decided. "They must be off to myleft."
He turned in that direction. Then, as he passed around a small knoll,he saw three Germans gathered about a machine gun down in a littledepression. Something seemed to be wrong with the mechanism, and thethree heads were bent over the breech.
"The beasts!" cried Schnitz in a hoarse whisper. "They must have hiddenhere when our lines passed over, and now they're going to pepper themfrom the rear. But not if I can stop it!"
Making sure that his rifle magazine was filled and that he had somehand grenades and that his pistol was where he could get at it, Franzworked his way quietly along until he was within a few feet of thethree Germans.
"Hands up!" he suddenly cried, leveling his rifle.
Whether or not the Huns understood th
ese characteristic American wordsis a question. But they could not mistake the tone of voice Schnitzelused. Immediately six hands were elevated, and with one accord, as theGermans turned and faced the lone lad.
"_Kamerad! Kamerad!_" they cried.
"That sounds like it!" said Franz grimly. "Take off your pistolsand toss 'em on the ground. Then form in line and march. You're myprisoners!"
The men obeyed sullenly enough. By gestures Franz indicated that theywere to march ahead of him back toward the American lines. His heartwas jubilant at the capture. Not only had he prisoners, but he had,alone, cleaned up a machine-gun nest.
But alas for poor Schnitz! He had hardly marched his trio of Huns morethan a few hundred feet when, as they turned around a clump of bushes,they came face to face with a large party of Germans led by a pompouscaptain.
Instantly the three prisoners set up a yell, explaining the situation,and with answering yells their comrades rushed toward them.
"I guess the game's up!" thought Franz grimly. "This was too good tolast!"
He fired into the midst of the Germans, seeing two go down. Then someone either crept up behind him and struck him or he was hit by amissile thrown or by a glancing bullet, for he suddenly fell and lostconsciousness, and when he revived, under a rain of kicks bestowed onhis prostrate body by a brutal soldier, it was to find himself in themidst of a circle of Huns.
"Get up, pig-dog of an American!" spluttered the German captain. "Youwill capture our men, will you? Now you are a prisoner. The tables areturned!"
He spoke in German, and, of course, Franz understood. Before herealized what he was doing he snapped back an answer in the sametongue, not thinking what the consequences would be.
"I won't be a prisoner long!" said Franz. Hearing his own language froman enemy prisoner, he reached the conclusion that the speaker was ofGerman parentage. This seemed to enrage the Boche captain. With crimsonface he yelled:
"Ho! So you are a renegade German, are you? You fight against your owncountrymen! Well, we know the right punishment for that. Get up, youtraitor!" and he kicked poor Schnitz brutally. "Drag him along if hewon't walk!" cried the captain to his men, and some of them, with readybayonets, drew nearer to Franz.